


And scatter me amongst the thorns

by Claire



Series: Thorns [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-01
Updated: 2010-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:25:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel doesn't know who he is any more...</p>
            </blockquote>





	And scatter me amongst the thorns

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the porn battle, using the prompts: exile, absolution, need

Castiel doesn't know who he is any more, doesn't know who's looking back at him as he stares into yet another mirror in yet another motel in yet another town he's never cared to learn the name of. Eternity and faith and the absolute love of his Father replaced by a too bright bulb showing the cracks in the walls and the mould on the floor.

He can barely hear the Host any more, their song becoming less each day, their chorus passing from his skin and leaving nothing more than empty spaces inside. Leaving him empty and wanting and incomplete. It won't be long until they're gone completely, until _Castiel_ is gone completely, leaving only--

"Cas?"

The mirror shows Dean slipping into the bathroom behind him, smile on his lips and jeans straining.

"Sam's gone out--"

Castiel nods, hearing the words but knowing them for something different. Dean's codes weren't all that difficult to learn once Castiel understood that everything means the same thing, leads to the same place. He braces himself against the sink, the ceramic cold under his hands, as the reflections of blue and green meet.

"God, Cas--" Dean mutters, his hands already at Castiel's waist, already pulling away the towel Castiel has wrapped around him and dropping it to the floor. "What you do to me--"

There's the rasp of a zipper, a beat, and then Dean's there. And he must have brought lubricant into the bathroom with him because the fingers he presses into Castiel are slick.

"Dean--" Castiel pushes back into the touch, back into Dean's warmth.

"Gotta be quick," is the only reply as Dean pulls his fingers away. Their loss leaves Castiel empty, bereft, and then Dean's back, his hands on Castiel's hips as he thrusts inside, the groan ripped from Castiel's lips matching Dean's.

Dean doesn't stop until he's all the way inside; doesn't stop until the metal of his zipper is biting into Castiel's flesh, the denim of his jeans rubbing against Castiel's skin.

"Fuck, Cas--" Dean's grip tightens and Castiel knows there will be marks on his skin that will take days to fade. Reds and purples that slowly fade to blue and yellow as they sink into him, branding him with Dean's signature.

He rocks forward as Dean drives into him, pressing back into each burning thrust, pressing back as Dean fills him. One of Dean's hands moves over Castiel's stomach, moves until Dean's holding hard flesh in his fingers. There are words ghosting across Castiel's skin, lips against his skin as they murmur _fuck_ and _yes_ and _mine_.

And Castiel's still not sure who he is any more, but he knows that the empty spaces in him are slowly being occupied by Dean. He's still not sure who he is, but he knows he's Dean's. And, for now, that's enough.


End file.
